


That Unhallowed Spark

by hitodama



Category: Ghost Trick: Phantom Detective, 逆転裁判 | Gyakuten Saiban | Ace Attorney
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood and Gore, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Horror, M/M, Medical Procedures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-19
Updated: 2013-11-18
Packaged: 2018-01-01 23:15:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1049732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hitodama/pseuds/hitodama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ace Attorney/Ghost Trick crossover, as a Frankenstein AU. After Apollo discovers that his mentor created a new life out of death, he begins spiraling down into the horrors of the creature's existence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

_[The worn, stained journal you’ve found has a written page shoved inside the front cover, with the following message:]_

Dear reader,

If you are now in the possession of my journal, then you may assume that I am either imprisoned or dead. For some time now, I have felt that the sins I have accumulated would become such a burden that fate itself should lash out at me for them. Though it pains me to acknowledge it, I see no other possible end for one such as me, for anything more gentle would also be more than I deserve.

Though you may judge me for what my predecessor has done, you should know this: I have undertaken these recorded actions of my own free will. The choice to partake in these horrors has always been mine and mine alone. What could I possibly say in my defense? They would all be paltry excuses, the last pleading cries of a doomed man. 

Should you find my motives unclear, then stop to consider that I sought only to preserve a life - a life that has touched my own in such unique and fascinating ways that I could not bear to see it extinguished.

——

**April 5, 1822**

The day has finally arrived! Today, I receive my degree, and then I will be enabled to quit Dartmouth for good. For all my excitement to embark on a proper career, I feel equal excitement in simply being able to leave. The lectures have never been one fraction as interesting as what Dr. Gavin has taught me. Technicalities may best be left to the lectures, it’s true, but who else would have given me the opportunity to visit the amphitheater to watch dissections, or even to go as far as to hand me a scalpel and allow me to open and examine cadavers on my own? 

I am very aware that it is by Dr. Gavin’s good graces that I have made it this far in my schooling at all, and never have I been more grateful. My aspirations would never have been realized if Dr. Gavin had not stopped to see the potential in an orphan hungry for the knowledge to better himself. My only wish now is to proceed into a steady career and make him proud via my achievements. 

Yet, I have an unease that I cannot shake in regards to Dr. Gavin’s demeanor. The man has become secretive to an extreme, sometimes frantic. The concerns I voiced over his current state of mind were brushed off and thusly ignored, in his usual fashion, and yet I am certain that something is wrong. What it may be, I haven’t the faintest idea, but I am also positive that the truth will be revealed in time.

For now, I must prepare for graduation!

——

**April 20, 1822**

The unthinkable has happened.

It all began a few short days ago. The rumors of a malicious spirit said to haunt the countryside grew to a fever pitch when a man was found murdered at one of the taverns often frequented by those scoundrels and low-lives that prefer to keep out of the reach of the city watch.

The tale becomes strange from there, as a homeopathic practitioner named Mr. Phoenix Wright was accused of the crime. I could scarcely believe my ears, as this was the same famed Dr. Wright who distinguished himself by treating wounded soldiers in that great war that passed only seven years hence! He was soon after that accused of quackery and disgraced, a tale which I had vast difficulty believing in. Yet, it was Dr. Gavin that always dismissed homeopaths as fakes and charlatans. I now wonder how much of that advice had been sound. 

In this case, it was Dr. Gavin himself that examined the victim and constructed how Mr. Wright murdered the man, a vagrant of no known name or origin. That should have been the end of it, but then Mr. Wright challenged Dr. Gavin’s opinion and that… that I could not stay silent for. I may never be forgiven for it, but I asserted that Mr. Wright’s opinion was the correct one, and the uncommon amount of knowledge Dr. Gavin had of the events leading up to the crime could only mark him as the true murderer.

How could I betray the man that gave me everything? It is because simply could not see an innocent man go to the gallows. The Lady Justice of my namesake was calling out to me, and I could do naught but answer her call. It appalls me still that Dr. Gavin could be capable of something so base as murder - and I know little of why he’d be in such a tavern in the first place! - yet his reaction to the accusation left little doubt that he was the one that carried out the vile deed.

After it was over with, I socked Mr. Wright in the jaw for a particularly mean trick he pulled on me. I feel obliged to assert that I am still not sorry for it. The surprising part is that Mr. Wright offered a place at his practice for me, should I wish to take him up on the offer.

I believe I will only seek to join his practice when Hell opens its gates and the devils begin using our Earth’s terra firma for hosting their galas.

——

**May 1, 1822**

As Dr. Gavin’s apprentice, it fell to me to clean up what remains of his work - his precious notes, his tools, the specimens he kept for reference purposes. I have been told that Dr. Gavin has a brother, but one that is currently indisposed towards making the journey here. There is no one else left that would recognize the value of his work, and though now I suspect Dr. Gavin would not want to leave it to me, I couldn’t bear the thought of his knowledge being destroyed by uncaring hands. Luckily, Dr. Gavin’s former housekeeper is friendly to me and obliged me in letting me inside.

How might I describe his office? It is a wonder of both comfort and curiosity, and I always longed to have the time to linger there, to peruse his books and stare with fascination at the specimen jars and skulls kept on display. I had that opportunity now, but none of my earlier spirit. It is an eerie feeling, to be a trespasser in the home of a dead man.

But I had a mission, and I had also found the hiding place where he had stashed his desk keys. Reassuring myself of the rightness of my mission, I spent some hours sitting there at Dr. Gavin’s desk, looking through what of his writings I found.

Everything that remained there was neatly organized, if much of it depressingly mundane. There was no reason for me to take his writings on a lecture he gave a month ago, though I did take a couple of interesting sketches and notations on unique specimens he had examined. Indeed, I found nothing particularly telling at all until I happened to knock a paperweight into an empty drawer and found that the bottom of it rang hollow. 

Surprised at finding such a trick, I immediately removed the wood paneling and found a small locked strongbox beneath it. None of the keys I held fit the luck, but by now I was so sure that I found something of great importance that I opted to break the clasp off of the box entirely. I knew well that Dr. Gavin was unlikely to ever retrieve what he’d hidden, so I only felt momentary pangs of shame at the destruction. 

Still, it yielded to the force I carried out on it, and what I found inside has proven nearly beyond my capacity to understand.

It contained leather-bound notebooks full of Dr. Gavin’s writings, and the first one I flipped through contained systematic notes of events cause by a ‘Sissel’. He wrote of this Sissel like one might a particularly errant and unruly cat. I knew that Dr. Gavin did keep a pet canine; so might he have obtained another pet? One that he was most obviously not happy with? It was extremely strange. The next, older notebook had more technical writings in it, so I focused my attention on it instead.

The enormity of what I found both sickens and fascinates me still. Within were the careful notes of a grand experiment, done with parts of corpses he had taken from those unfortunates obtained by the college for dissection! Yet the exact records he kept of the origin of organs and limbs paled in comparison to his descriptions of sewing those parts together, the process also marked with a sketch of the body and the path of stitching necessary. The form was made male, though with internal organs harvested from both sexes as appropriate, chosen for hardiness and freshness.

It seemed that it had taken Dr. Gavin some long years to put together this specimen, about as long as I had known him. How could I have missed the signs of such an obsession? Now I realize that the intensity he carried from when we met was the same one that stemmed from this experiment of his, which now explained what he had been doing those times he claimed to be too busy to deal with me.

It was with a horrified fascination that I read on, some small part of me envious at the skill Dr. Gavin used while cobbling together the specimen. His writing began to tremble as he recounted how he completed the work and had only to wait for a storm. A storm! And it was with the electricity from a lighting strike that the specimen was animated, given a new life!

I could hardly believe that a force such as electricity, of the same kind used by entertainers to make dazzling sparks for the delight of crowds, could be the same method he used to recreate life! I knew it had some scientific applications, if nothing like  _this_  - yet there was the proof, written in the plain, sterile language of his notes, so entirely far-fetched that I still could not believe that any of it was in jest. 

Dr. Gavin’s notes also recounted the subject’s first stirrings of life, the easy locomotion in contrast to the creature’s confusion, and the first word he uttered: ‘Sissel’. So that was what was behind the previous notebook I had found; Dr. Gavin had been speaking of his difficulties in controlling this new creature!

What Dr. Gavin had succeeded in was astonishing, and knowing that the creature still lived gave me a sense of foreboding. What was the nature of this living experiment? As succinct as they were, the records of him told me little. There was nothing more to discover, so I replaced the box back in its hiding place, lock broken and its contents pilfered. 

In the end, I could do nothing but bring his papers back to my abode, to study them again and struggle to make sense of it all. The science behind it seems sound, which only leaves the moral implications of what he has done. Though I have never been a devoted man, I cannot help but feel that this experiment has been blasphemous in some measure. Does this not rebel against the very laws of nature? Is not our Creator the only one who must hold the power of creating life? I already know well that men can never be counted as trustworthy, much less when such power over life and death is within their grasp.

My brain has grown so weary that I can no longer think. The hour is now growing late; I must attempt sleep, though I fear what I have learned may now haunt my nightmares.

——

**May 19, 1822**

After discovering Dr. Gavin’s secret experiment, I spent two full days in reflection, hardly leaving my apartment at all. I finally came to the conclusion that his creation  _must_  be found. My mentor failed to contain Sissel, and that I could only think of as misfortune, for the sort of troubles a newly-made being might find on his own were innumerable. Though I know I have no direct obligation to inherit Dr. Gavin’s responsibilities, I believe myself to be the only living person who now knows the creature exists. There is no one else to accept the task but me.

It seemed to me that Sissel was undoubtedly the source of the persistent rumors of haunting, and by following those I thought myself able to track him. I began venturing into the outskirts of the city, frequenting the rough taverns I had always shied from before, and taking walks in the wilds beyond the farmland in my search. I heard nothing good about this supposed specter. These rumors claimed that he was murdered in a dreadful manner and returned to seek vengeance on the one that killed him. What utter nonsense! I could only imagine the creature as Dr. Gavin had described him, a wretch who still struggles with basic understanding of the world around him.

I continued in this manner for a fortnight, during which I narrowed my search to an area mere yards from the banks of the river, the land both too far from the life-giving water and too rocky to be of any current use to farmers. It was all overgrown now, the only evidence that anyone had tried to eke out an existence there in the collection of dilapidated barns and cabins scattered over the area. As weary as I grew of chasing phantoms, my curiosity propelled me forward to examine the rotting buildings. You can imagine my surprise when I found that the one home that hadn’t collapsed in on itself had some signs of habitation!

What I did find was sparse by any standard - there were a number of candles and a small pile of books and newspapers, along with furniture and some other inconsequential items. And yet, there was no bedding, nor any sign of kept food or other creature comforts. Even the fireplace looked as though it had not been used in years. 

What was I to think of this? Could these items have been left behind by a traveler or someone who only took shelter for a night? While I was debating if it would be worth waiting for the owner to return, there was a creak behind me as the door swung open!

I only had enough time to turn before I found myself grabbed by the lapel and slammed against the nearby wall, my head hitting it hard enough to make my vision swim. When I was able to shake off my disorientation, my first look at my attacker chilled my blood.

He was much taller than I, with blonde hair swept back in a tall pompadour, wearing a suit that might have once been Sunday’s best, were it now not so dirty and worn. Perched on his nose were darkened spectacles, and behind that a face with a greenish cast to the skin was twisted into a sneer that distorted the lines of stitching there. It was the same stitching I’d seen marked in Dr. Gavin’s notes! Standing in front of me was the creature I’d been searching for!

"Sissel," I gasped out, and hearing his name seemed to startle him, for he released me and stepped back, his expression now more mistrustful than enraged.

"I know you. You’re Gavin’s  _lackey_.” His voice was raspy from something more than disuse, but the venom he put behind his words were even more off-putting. “It was foolish of you to come all on your own. D’ya think you can drag me back?!”

"No!" I interjected quickly. "I’m not here for that! I… I didn’t know you could _speak_.”

"… Heh. It must’ve not been too essential to know I’m intelligent, eh? Now.  _Why are you here_?”

I struggled to find the words to explain myself, the earlier display of aggression convincing me that I needed a good reason, and fast. “Dr. Gavin… he’s dead. I found his notes regarding the experiment that created you, and I had to know what had become of you, and if you still lived.”

The creature’s face was impassive, without the slightest bit of reaction to the news of Dr. Gavin’s passing. “Well. I live, if you can call it living. Does  _this_ satisfy your curiosity?”

I could only shake my head mutely before I found my voice again. “Yet you’re here in a dwelling scarcely protected from the elements, with nothing in the way of comforts - I won’t take you back, nor anywhere you do not wish, but surely you don’t need to live in this sort of poverty!”

Sissel laughed, though there was no mirth in it. “You understand nothing. I need no comforts. Were Gavin’s notes not clear enough? His grandiose experiment  _failed_. I do not feel hot nor cold nor any sort of touch against my skin. I need no food or rest, and I am unaware if my heart yet beats. This place is as good as any for the dead!”

I now had enough courage to step away from the wall, my hands open in a supplicating gesture. “Not dead, simply… different. Whatever the circumstances, I cannot in good conscience allow you to remain here without any sort of aid.”

Sissel turned away from me, his mouth set in a pained grimace. “I want nothing from you, except to stay unmolested by the curious! Leave me,  _now_ , and never return to this place!”

There was such vehemence in his tone that I could do nothing but comply. With the hour then growing late, I returned home. 

Sissel did ask me to leave him be, but I have already decided to do no such thing. Though his facilities are far more improved than I originally thought, I still cannot rest easily knowing that he remains there alone. It is my fervent hope that the next time will not involve any further violence. If he seriously thought I would allow that to intimidate me, then he’s been sorely mistaken about my nature.

——

**May 26, 1822**

I made good on my resolve and visited Sissel again the very next day. This time, he could not throw me out so easily, and I was able to coax the tale of his beginnings out of him.

His exact words have fled my mind, but I remember the tale well. In his first moments as a new being he understood nothing, knew no words to name the objects he laid his eyes on, and could not understand Dr. Gavin’s speech. Sissel told me that Dr. Gavin had left him locked inside an empty storage room in his private laboratory, until that time that he saw fit to teach Sissel basic concepts in order to have his assistance with doing simple tasks. Though he learned some words this way, the majority of language still escaped him, while he was being treated like nothing more than a dumb homunculus! 

Despite this lack of stimulation, Sissel’s mind was much better than Dr. Gavin gave him credit for. He soon grew to loathe his situation and one day overpowered my mentor and escaped. There Sissel ended his tale, saying only that he learned speech and writing afterward by observing humanity, though remaining on the fringes thanks to his unsightly appearance.

There are no words to describe how horrified I was! I had always known Dr. Gavin to be a kind man of high regard, and still he’d treated Sissel meanly, perhaps even seeing him as a failure. When my horror abated, it was only to be replaced by anger. Sissel had never been given a fair chance, and that rankled at my very being.

I think that perhaps my reaction at his story was enough to soften his view of me. When I left that night, I again promised to return, and on my return Wednesday I brought him extra reading material to keep himself occupied. It was not so hard to discern that, other than a friendly black cat that also liked to visit, I was the only companion he had. Even his fine manner of dress could not completely hide the marks of his making, and an appearance that any sort not so comfortably familiar with the workings of decay would find abhorrent. 

I believed this decay to be halted, yet on another visit he showed me that he had a small problem - the thumb of his right hand somehow quit its stitches and was literally only hanging on by a thread, its color and smell much worse since it had been disconnected from his body. Sissel had no true blood, instead a thick, dark liquid that would have pulsed from the open veins had it not been so easily stopped by a handkerchief he kept wrapped around the open wound. It gave him no discomfort, but seeing the difficulty of going without a working thumb, I promised to him that I would find him a replacement.

I took the offending digit and on the next day was able to find one of equal size off of a cadaver already used for study by the students at Dartmouth; I brought it with me that evening along with my doctor’s bag, and proceeded to stitch the new one into place. Once the work was finished, Sissel could move it easily, and said that he was glad that he would not fall to pieces while I was around. I have to admit to being happy that it had worked at all, though the closer observations I had made of his state have only aroused my curiosity all the more.

Though the going is slow, I believe that we have at least become good acquaintances. Sissel is a pleasure to talk to; he has a very quick mind and his reading has given him a good grasp of both philosophy and the sciences. I know that I should be making preparations to begin my career, and yet I greatly dislike the idea of leaving Sissel here alone while I leave to ply my trade. It can be put off for a while longer, as the college has some minor work they are willing to pay me for. I shall simply have to think of a solution in the meantime.

——

**June 3, 1822**

Tonight, Sissel confided to me something incredible!

Our talk had gone much like my earlier visits had, straying to whichever topics suited our fancy, until he confessed that he did have a more important matter in which he needed my aid. I know that he was counting on my promise during our first meeting to help him in whatever manner I could, but still being ready to do this, I agreed to listen without hesitation.

First, he admitted to me that Sissel was not his name! His true name was Yomiel; and the one that had been used for him was of his former fiancee. It astounded me to hear that he had begun to remember some parts of his past life, the one he’d lived as a human before his body and mind had been used for Dr. Gavin’s gruesome experiment! Though he claimed that at first he could remember less than he could count on the fingers of one hand (minus the thumb), his memories had slowly been returning, and he was now absolutely sure that he’d been murdered.

What he asked of me then was not to do with his own fate, but that of Sissel’s. He cared nothing for himself, but only needed to know how his fiancee was faring to put his discomforted thoughts to rest. His limitations meant that he could not easily move through the land of the living, but I would little be remarked upon for inquiring into the matter. 

I agreed, of course. I might have come to know him by a different name, but Yomiel has proven himself to be quite capable of kindness, and I do still feel the responsibility of giving him a comfortable existence. If it will settle his mind, then I will gladly do him this favor, and perhaps later we can explore the matter of his returning memories in depth.

——

**June 12, 1822**

The search for Yomiel’s fiancee took me nearly a week to accomplish. I was able to gather enough clues to take me to the city of Concord, where I determined that both Yomiel and Sissel had lived during Yomiel’s last days as a living being.

The work involved tedious things like checking birth records and asking various shop owners and landlords if they remembered the couple from all those years ago; and it was not until I found one of Sissel’s neighbors that I was able to hear the sorry tale in full. Yomiel had not been murdered, but rather shot as a spy while attempting to escape from the authorities. Sissel had been so distraught after his death that she chose to quit this mortal plane by committing suicide.

What a ghastly turn of events! I did not know how to tell it to Yomiel. That he  had been a criminal was a surprise to me, but did not lessen my opinion of him - indeed, it explained how Dr. Gavin had so easily obtained his corpse, for criminals are often donated to colleges for the advancement of science. I instead fretted over how to admit the horrible news, and spent an extra day in Concord brooding over it. That day proved to be immensely fruitful, as I discovered a truth that had me rushing back to Hanover with all the speed that I could muster.

After a short stop in my apartment, I hurried to Yomiel’s cabin. He was surprised to see me in such a rush, and insisted I take a seat to catch my breath before I told him anything.

But how to start? It felt as though I had a lead weight in my stomach as I turned to him and said, “Sissel is… she’s dead. She killed herself by her own hand a week after you passed on. … I’m sorry.”

At first, Yomiel’s limbs only trembled, but then he put his head in his hands and emitted a wail no earthly being could reproduce. He began sobbing brokenly, a dark liquid trailing from underneath his spectacles. Faced with this despair, I was at a loss as to how to comfort him, and so finally intervened to prevent him from tearing at his hair. I held his unresistant wrists and spoke to him as soothingly as I could,

"Yomiel, please! I know, I know you’ve lost something immensely dear but I need you to take a moment to listen to me. Can you do that?"

He nodded his assent, though he kept his face hidden from mine as I took a deep breath and imparted to him the precious information I’d found on the last day of my trip.

"Sissel’s body was donated to science, as I believe happened to yours… but there is a part of her that still remains. Her brain and heart were both removed and preserved, and now reside safely in one of the medical colleges in Concord."

This news startled him so that he left his spectacles slipping down his nose, showing me his eyes for the first time. I was amazed at their clarity, for they were somehow not yet touched by decay, being a startling blue that now held a potent spark of hope.

"Then she… her mind and her soul, and you have Gavin’s notes…!"

"Yes," I said, mustering up a brave smile for him. There was plenty going through my mind at that moment that I could not share with him, not the least of which was my own doubt. It was not a matter of testing my skill, but instead of his loneliness and grief, which was worth any amount of difficulty to relieve. What I said next, I said with true intention and purpose. 

"I can bring your Sissel back to life." 


	2. Part 2

**June 18, 1822**

Yomiel still obviously suffered from his grief, but was eager to make plans with me on what our next steps should be. After that was settled, I briefly returned to Concord to take those jars containing Sissel’s heart and brain, and with those safely packed away with me I rented the use of a private carriage to transport Yomiel and I out of Hanover. We traveled southwest, passing through Vermont until we ended our journey in Albany.

Why such a distance from home? I decided that Concord would be a poor area to conduct our business, as Yomiel may be recognized, and Hanover itself was so small a town that the nature of my work might be discovered without difficulty. Albany is both a large city and one of the very hubs of transportation of this great nation; it would equal to both a place where I can work as a doctor and find plentiful corpses to make Sissel anew.

While Yomiel is quite glad that I was so agreeable towards the idea, I have not told him of my private reservations. The work described in Dr. Gavin’s notes is utterly horrid, and yet I’d even suggested the idea! I could have allowed Yomiel to believe there was no hope left, and we’d still be in Hanover, doing such enjoyable, trifling things as debating the themes in Paradise Lost or spoiling his cat. But though the work facing me might be grisly, I still feel that giving Yomiel back the companion he lost during his life could only improve the unfortunate condition afforded to him in death. It will be well worth the effort, to give him another of his kind and banish that vast loneliness I can perceive in him. 

That same cat has also joined us on the journey. He is an agreeable sort while even on bumpy roads, which gladdens me, as I believe Yomiel would have hated to leave the feline behind. Yomiel’s moods have been strange ever since I told him of Sissel’s death, ranging from periods where he would brood without saying a word, to those where he is eager to talk, craving the conversation I can provide him. Or perhaps he’s always been prone to foul moods, and I simply hadn’t noticed it about him? 

At any rate, I was able to rent a small home on the outskirts of Albany. It’s in some need of repair, but as long as the inside remains insulated and dry, I can’t imagine being able to stop my work to do those repairs myself. It indicates to me that the landlord may be negligent in keeping up his property, which suits our needs perfectly. The less anyone snoops around here, the better.

——

**June 22, 1822**

The both of us have spent this week settling into the house, and making preparations to begin my work. Admittedly, I’ve been doing the most of that, but Yomiel has helped me move what supplies I’ve already purchased into the room that I will be using as my laboratory. My funds are running rather low, which means I’ll need to ply my trade as a doctor out of necessity. I’ve introduced myself to a couple of the medical colleges here already, with my degree from Dartmouth making the going smoother.

Once the table that I purchased was moved in, I finally asked Yomiel what I’d rather wanted to for some time now - I have had the desire to see my mentor’s work up close, to look at what methods he used to put Yomiel’s insides together, and he agreed that I could detach his stitches to look inside his chest cavity and torso. As he felt no pain when I replaced his thumb, we determined that it was very likely he would feel nothing while I opened him up.

Our hypothesis was correct. Yomiel was fully conscious as I used a scalpel to remove the heavier stitching along the trunk incisions, and once that was done his skin and muscle quite easily peeled back to reveal his rib cage and the viscera beneath. 

How amazing it was to see his heart beating, his lungs moving, his other organs quivering as if in use! I was at first stunned, until I examined him closer and observed that even those active organs were in truth only working sluggishly. His heart beat very slowly, his lungs only moved when he spoke to me, and as far as I could tell anything not otherwise involved in the direct movement of his body was inert and possibly useless. The thick, foul liquid that was his blood seemed to be circulating well enough, hardly staining the interior. Everywhere I looked were signs of Dr. Gavin’s hand, evidenced in the small, careful horsehair stitches used to keep arteries and organs attached to one another. 

Yomiel himself seemed undisturbed and in fact curious at seeing his own insides, though when questioned he honestly had no clue what was flowing through his veins. I suspect it may be ‘old blood’ that has only maintained enough fluidity to keep the consistency of sludge.

There was one other thing I observed: there seemed to be a small blue rock embedded in Yomiel’s heart. I am quite amazed that Dr. Gavin did not remove it, but it may be because it is still plugging up the hole it made, not allowing any of his so-called blood to ooze out of it. I could not examine it closer with the obstacle of his rib cage, and it took all of my willpower to not ask him about it. I was under the impression that Yomiel had been shot to death … but of course, he wasn’t aware that I knew that he was a former criminal. It would be too uncomfortable a topic while I had his inner workings exposed and him essentially helpless on my operating table. It is through sheer luck that the rock was not placed where he could easily see it. 

I sewed him back up without a word about the strange state of his heart, and once it was done Yomiel was as lively as I have ever seen him, showing no discomfort and even going so far as to ask if I liked the show. I told him I would have paid money to see it, which made it quite fortunate that he was willing to show me such excellent sights for free.

We are very odd friends. Living in the same house with him is even odder, but we are becoming all the more accustomed to each other, which I count as a great benefit.

——

**July 15th, 1822**

The work progresses slowly. I have spent most of my time doing that other, paying work that I gained my degree for the purpose of doing. Yomiel may not require food, but I do, as he’s so helpfully began to remind me. What an ungrateful wretch I am for finding complaint with it! The residents here are perfectly welcoming, and as long as they remain inclined to do business with me, then I may also keep buying what equipment and supplies I still require for our grand undertaking.

I admittedly only now have enough of a supply of preservatives to begin with the task of gathering together parts. I have already attended a couple of dissections simply to make my face known to the other instructors and students, which should make it easier for me to harvest what I need from the cadavers. A suitable method of transportation will be the next obstacle, but what would be both quick and discreet? I may need to obtain a cart that Yomiel or I would be able to pull on our own; surely none of it will be so large as to require one drawn by beasts of burden.

What to say of Yomiel? His brooding moods still come and go. I have noted that he will often leave the house on dark nights, yet it is becoming more obvious to me how frustrated he is with his condition. For even if another human chose to look past his physical oddities, what of his lack of functions? What would one think of the fact that he does not need fuel for his existence, and hardly even requires air? My sympathy for him grows deeper by the day. I have endeavored to draw him into conversation as often as I can, for it leaves both our spirits lighter afterward.

——

**August 12, 1822**

The cadavers available in the medical colleges have not been enough. I have taken Yomiel’s recollections of Sissel to heart; she is meant to be a taller woman but with a well-formed body, a modest beauty with lengthy raven-black hair and eyes the color of the sky at dusk. (He may have been overly poetic in his descriptions of her). 

But what beauty can be found in these old corpses the students are left to fall upon, like dogs hungry for knowledge? The majority of those criminals and lost souls are men, and what few women arrive in repose at these charnel houses of science have either sickness or the pains of a hard life etched into their skin. I can only make use of what viscera is still in fine working order; I have but few parts to begin piecing together her outer form. What use is a pile of organs with no skeleton or skin to house them?

I must speak to Yomiel about this. Our minds working together will surely do better to solve this problem than mine alone.

——

**August 15, 1822**

I am still amazed at what we have done - such a simple solution, and also one so abhorrent to reasonable thought! And yet, the act of creating new life from the dead must be a more sinful deed, though I never hesitated so much as in doing this.

When I spoke to him on the matter, Yomiel quite reasonably pointed out to me that there were many more corpses that could be available to me, if I would make my selections from the graveyards instead of the colleges. If it weren’t for my own concerns for gathering the parts we need quickly, I feel I would have rejected the notion outright. Yomiel is as desperate as I to do this quickly, though for his own reasons.

Last night, we walked through two graveyards before finding what we were looking for - a freshly-buried grave, and a wooden marker with a woman’s name. Though I greatly feared discovery, Yomiel was perfectly at ease, and that calmed my racing heart. After some time, the act of digging up the grave became monotonous, and it was surely past midnight by the time we cleared the dirt off of the top of the coffin.

Upon opening it, we found that the corpse was of a young woman - she had the wrong looks about her, but she was still in fine shape, save for the broken neck that must have killed her. We stripped her of her clothes and jewelry, leaving those  worldly possessions behind as we tucked her body under a blanket in the cart. It was then much easier to fill the grave again, and we departed for home without a single interruption.

Should I lament that this was necessary, when the results are so satisfactory? I can only hope that the crime will not be discovered. What I seek is not the heartbreak of her family, but the creation of a new life, that will benefit from the flesh that this woman can no longer use. 

——

**October 21, 1822**

I have finally gathered most of the flesh, bone, and internals I need to begin crafting Sissel’s form. We have taken five different women from their coffins, and I have gathered parts from many other cadavers at the colleges. I am anticipating that there will surely be a need for replacements later on, but that can be dealt with as needed. That we will no longer need to skulk about graveyards at night gives me a great sense of relief, even if the work ahead of me now will be the most daunting of all.

Yomiel has remained a wonderful help to me, quick to lend a hand without my asking. I have told him before that he did not have to join me in such odious work, but he would have none of that. He argued that his experience working for Dr. Gavin made him a qualified assistant, and I had to admit that he was right. I have no desire at all to repeat what my former mentor did to him, so I am ever thankful that he does not seem bothered by either me or our work.

There are times I wonder what he is doing with his freedom. There have been rumors circulating of late, of a sinister mystery man with stitches over his face. They speak of Yomiel, no doubt, but they have nothing to attribute him to other than being overly creepy and perhaps a bit belligerent. Once again, I must laugh at the superstitious townsfolk, who also here believe that he may be a spirit! Perhaps it is some consequence of attempting to escape notice. I should ask him to avoid lurking about in the fog.

——

**January 2, 1823**

It is a new year. The holidays that Yomiel and I have no use for have come and gone as only minor distractions from my work.

My work! It is more gristly than I gave it credit for. I have spent long days in that windowless room, following in my mentor’s footsteps, forming a whole body again from fragments both large and small. Though I can often push the reality of it from my mind, there are times that I smell a whiff of decay or wonder at the lives of those women whose bodies we’ve stolen. There are some nights I wake in a cold sweat, images of what I’ve seen in my laboratory playing against the back of my eyelids.

But whenever I do wake, Yomiel is there. He stays in a chair close to the bed, sometimes with a book or a newspaper, other times with his cat on his lap. I have no idea when it started, now only grateful for the comforting words and soothing touch that can calm me and sometimes ease me back to sleep. I thought that he was the one of us that needed support, but now I am sure that I would be in a much sorrier state were he not providing me with his company.

Such a dear, dear friend he’s been to me! If I could somehow channel the regard I feel for him into the quality of my work, it would be an overwhelming success. Perhaps it is ironic to take such comfort from a man who was made by the very same process that plagues me now, but I feel that this is because I simply cannot treat Yomiel as a dead man. He is more than that now, and though he feels that he is imperfect, I do not see this as the truth at all.

I like to think that we would have become good friends without the makings of Sissel to tie us closer together, but what can I truly claim? It could be that he only encourages me to guarantee that I continue on with my work. This is also a notion I do not like to dwell on, for misplaced trust is a grave folly. 

Trust… yes, I do trust him, and dare to hope that he finds me worthy of the same.

——

**March 23, 1823**

Sissel nears completion now. Most of her organs are in place, and her appearance is that of a full woman now, the various parts she was assembled from no longer singularly distinguishable. Yomiel tells me that she is, of course, not a mirror image to his faint memories, but a close enough approximation to satisfy him. This will be the form for Sissel’s new life!

There is still much to do. The process of Sissel’s reanimation requires not only electricity, but the equipment necessary to take in a bolt of lightning and then safely guide it to her body. To that end, I must still install the metal bolts that will make that conduction possible. The rest of the equipment I need will be expensive,  but not too far out of our reach. Perhaps I could return it to the sellers after the work is completed and Sissel has properly joined us.

Though in our home there is a mood of anticipation, I cannot say the same for the city. When I ventured into the city for supplies the other day, I heard a rumor regarding the desecration of graves! Could our own grave robbing have been enough to alert the townsfolk? Five bodies seemed so small an amount, compared to the number of graveyards in Albany! If we had been noticed in the act, surely I would have been arrested by now, but this has not been the case. It is my fervent hope that these rumors will be forgotten once a new scandal comes along.

——

**April 2, 1823**

The electrical equipment has been purchased, with nearly the last of my funds. The bolts have been implanted into Sissel’s back, similar to Yomiel’s own. The lightning rod has also been placed on the roof. There is truly nothing else we need do in the way of preparation.

Now, we only wait for a storm. 

——

_[The next page of the journal is stained with blood and darker liquids, the writing here a hurried scrawl:]_

HE IS _DYING_

I WON’T ALLOW DEATH TO TAKE HIM

HE NO LONGER BELONGS TO YOU

HE’S  ** _MINE_**

——

**April 14, 1823**

So much has happened. I fear that words will be inadequate to describe it all, but despite my weariness I must try.

Two nights ago, the storm that we were waiting on was nearly upon us. Everything was set up and ready, with Yomiel and I both figuratively holding our breaths. We knew that there was no guarantee that the rod would pull down the lightning we sought, but it was our first best chance for it.

The storm still loomed, and dusk had barely fallen, when I looked out the window to see a small mob of armed men, walking the road towards our house! Yomiel refused to allow me to speak to them. He pushed me upstairs instead, made sure that I had my pistol ready and would open the door to no one but him. Though reluctant, I agreed, and after locking my bedroom door I anxiously waited for the outcome.

I believe now that his insistence saved my life.

There was some shouting that I could not make out, and then they began to pound the door down. I cannot properly explain what happened next, having not been there to see it. There were all sorts of horrible noises, splintering wood, shouts and screams. All that time, I gripped my pistol and waited in dread for when they would find me.

It never happened. The noises eventually stopped, and the house became as silent as a tomb. After a time, I could wait no longer, and slowly crept downstairs to see what had become of Yomiel.

What I found was a horrible sight! The front door was indeed broken, and one man lay dead amid the destruction of the living room. The worst of it was in the laboratory itself. Those bastards had gotten to Sissel; she lay mangled beyond repair, her brains bashed out, her ribs sunken in and her torso so bludgeoned the seams were tearing apart. The destruction of my work was even harder to take in than the other two men left dead on the floor.

Yomiel was here, too, and it was that sight of him that drew an anguished cry from my lips. He had dragged himself away before falling still, damaged by the crude tools the mob had been wielding. I shook him, and even pried open his eyelids, all without response at all. It was as though he were truly dead.

Yet, his heart and brain appeared undamaged, and in my despair I saw that there was still something I could do. I pushed Sissel’s remains off of the surgery slab and placed Yomiel there instead, using the materials from the dead men to rebuild him! I worked feverishly as the storm raged outside, fearing that the mob might return to finish the job they’d started. Most of all, I feared that Yomiel had been taken from me, and that my efforts would lead to nothing.

It was the fastest I’d ever worked before. I replaced organs and skin as if in a trance, piping fresh blood into his veins. I then attached the electric lines to his bolts and waited, feeling sick from worry, until lighting finally struck at the top of the house and fed into the equipment!

Yomiel woke immediately, revived from the shock, and seeing both the surroundings and my own sorry state he hardly waited before taking action. He again ushered me upstairs, to change and pack, while he grabbed his cat and what food I would need. We left very shortly after, while the rain still fell in heavy sheets, a fire lit in the laboratory that we hoped would consume the house and give some illusion that we had perished. May it have also served well as Sissel’s funeral pyre!

We walked on foot until Yomiel found a small carriage and a horse, and from then on we simply rode as fast and as far from Albany as we could. It was not until the next midday that we found shelter; we have since further traveled west and are now in a barn that has not held livestock in quite some time.

I grieve over Sissel’s loss, yet I know it must be nothing compared to the pain Yomiel is feeling now. For me, Sissel was a creation and the culmination of a grand project; for Yomiel she was the love of his life. Even now, he has occupied himself with his cat, talking to it as though it were Sissel herself! I fear for his sanity, in the aftermath of these horrible events.

That isn’t the last of it. Yesterday, Yomiel told me that he found some of his senses partially restored. He has regained smell, taste, and touch, all of the ones he’d thought lost forever; he once stopped to brush his fingers over my face and looked more serene than I have ever seen him before.

What is a boon to him is a horror to me, as there is only one change in him that could explain his renewed facilities. Those men belonging to the mob had not been dead even an hour when I harvested the parts from them to rebuild what damage they had done to Yomiel! Is this the step to the full creation of life that Dr. Gavin never found? Could it be that only fresh organs and fluids from other human beings will fully restore life to him? Then, when those new organs he uses will wither, must he always need new ones to keep himself further from death?

I fear to even mention it to him, though I know that Yomiel is no fool. Either he already knows or will remind himself of it once the novelty of his senses fails to distract him. He is so very dear to me, but I do not know how he might react to that knowledge, and it worries me all the more. 

I must attempt to get some rest. We will be traveling again tomorrow, and the further from Albany and its godforsaken populace we can get, the better.

——

**April 15, 1823**

Tonight, we found shelter close to a smaller town, one that may be safe enough to show myself in on the morrow. It  _must_  be safe for I will have no choice.

Yomiel had been preoccupied all day, and when we settled in an outside camp he finally told me, ”I’ve been thinking, ‘Pollo - about what I have to do now that Sissel’s gone. I always counted on her being here with us, but now everything’s changed.”

"What you have to do?" I echoed, feeling quite confused. "Will you not return to Hanover with me? You don’t need to live in that hovel anymore; you can stay with me, and we can even find another city to live in…"

Yomiel shook his head, then stopped to stare at our campfire, the light casting a hellish reflection in his glasses. “Call it my unfinished business. If I can’t have Sissel here with me, I’ll have my revenge on those jackals that murdered us.”

 _"Revenge?"_  I asked, a distinct sense of dread starting to fall over me again. “Do you truly mean to kill or damage someone else? Haven’t enough people died already?!”

"NO!" He said it vehemently, a flash of anger marring his expression. "The two of us would still be alive if it weren’t for them! Their lives for our lives, that’s _justice_ , isn’t it? It’s the only kind I’ll settle for.”

I didn’t know what to say. Having learned that he’d died as a criminal, was that still murder? What had he done in his life to deserve that? And what about the rock that was stuck in his heart, which couldn’t have come from a gun at all? “Will it do you any good to kill them?” I finally asked, hating the uncertainty in my own voice. “It won’t change anything! You have a new life now, you could… divorce it from your past, start over…”

"Do you truly think that’d work for me? I’m amazed you’d want to keep a murderer around, Apollo."

"You were only protecting yourself!"

"That’s not what I’m talking about."

There  _were_  no other occasions that he’d killed anyone, certainly none that I knew of, so I was gaping at him in shock as Yomiel continued on, “You remember that vagrant that Gavin got hanged for? Didya really think he’d dirty his hands directly that way?”

"You - are you saying  _you_  murdered that man?!”

"Gavin asked me to do it." Yomiel held a pained expression then, and I realized it wasn’t for the vagrant’s sake, but for mine. He hadn’t wanted me to know this. "He said he’d build me a companion, and all I had to do was kill a couple of men for him. Where he went wrong was insisting on staying to make sure I did it. It was his own bad luck that Wright fellow pointed the finger at him."

Yomiel, a cold-blooded murderer, and Dr. Gavin the one who ordered it! My mind was reeling, but one fact stood out to me, as clear as day. “You wouldn’t have asked for a companion if you knew Sissel was alive,” I mumbled, and my spirits sank further when Yomiel slowly nodded.

"… Yes, that’s right. Gavin said you were a talent. I thought I could inspire some sympathy and get you to take a similar deal. I never counted on any of Sissel’s remains being left, but you found ‘em and made her out of the goodness of your own heart. You’re ten times the man Gavin ever was."

I was both so angry and so shocked that I could hardly speak. Yomiel had tricked me! I had come to care for him in a way that was built on a lie, and I was then truly torn between casting him away from me and begging him to not go. He had still been my friend, and the grief he had shown me still seemed genuine. But he had also sent Dr. Gavin to the gallows, and in that, I could not decide if Yomiel was the one more guilty for murder, or Dr. Gavin for asking him to do it.

While I was still speechless, Yomiel took my hands in his, and told me, “I’m not happy about what I’ve done, so that’s why I’m telling you: go home. When all this is over with, I’ll come find you again. I’ll take whatever punishment you want for me. It’ll only be right. … Goodbye, Apollo.”

Then, he pressed his cool lips against my forehead, in the sweetest kiss I could ever imagine - 

And he left. He took only his cat and the horse, leaving me here alone.

——

**April 16, 1823**

After he left last night, I wept bitterly for some time, until I had calmed myself enough to write the previous entry and then sleep. I woke with the dawn, the campfire having burned itself down to ashes.

I am such a fool for not demanding that he stay! I have never before felt such a keen sense of sorrow and regret. Why would I ever wish punishment on Yomiel? He only tricked me because of his own loneliness. I cannot, will not forget his kindness, and all the care he’s shown me.  

He may have killed before, but that does not mean I’ll allow it to continue. I have to find him, and talk some sense into him! If only I had told him about the rock in his heart, and my doubts over his murder, we could have solved that mystery together… and no matter what, I can’t allow him to take another life. Not in the name of his revenge. 

I already know that Concord  _must_  be his final destination. Even if he has recalled some form of important information, I have the freedom of movement among others that he does not. If I can be fast, I may be able to avert further tragedy.

There’s no time to waste! 

——

_[This is where the entries end. The rest of the pages are blank.]_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic was inspired by my dear Ren's [awesome](http://blockmind.tumblr.com/post/36713080103/early-1800s-horror-au-a-la-mary-shelley-where) [fanart](http://blockmind.tumblr.com/post/36852522748/he-isnt-a-perfect-thing-sometimes-he-needs) of the AU! The idea was originally hers, and I just put words to it.


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